Our first date was on St. Patrick’s’ Day. I was dressed to kill with a bright green sweater and starched white shirt, pressed khakis and Weejuns. She had jeans and a leather jacket. She suggested a place to go for dinner. Walking in, I noticed the very long bar was full of bikers with heavy boots, lots of ratty hair, wallet-chains and many layers of smoke in the room. I felt sure I only had a few minutes to live. She introduced me to the guys lined up on the wall watching us play. All were friends of hers, keeping an eye out for her safety. I knew she had to be The One.
Postscript: for our 25th anniversary, I recorded a 11-minute monologue about this event, remembering my feelings at the time. I presented it to her as a gift. She was thrilled.
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